


Shifting Soils

by piano_gavin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Autistic Jonathan Sims, Background TimSasha, Canon Compliant, Elias Bouchard (mentioned) - Freeform, F/M, Gen, M/M, mid-season 1, pre jonmartin, the gang has a nice time :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23903155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piano_gavin/pseuds/piano_gavin
Summary: “Don’t tell me you pay full price for drinks in Chelsea? Cushy archivist salary treating you that well?”“No, nothing like that. It’s just, ah. It’s been a while since I’ve been out.” And it really had been, hadn’t it? He was struggling to remember the last time he had really taken the time to properly socialize outside of work. Hm.-After a long day at work, Jon begrudgingly enjoys a night out with his assistants.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 188





	Shifting Soils

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta Niki! She did such a great and thorough job. Check her art out on [tumblr](https://nikinacky.tumblr.com/) and [instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/nikinacky/)  
> Just in case, cw for what could be construed as disordered eating, in the form of semi-regularly forgetting to eat. It's not integral to the story at all, though.

The night dragged on, the outdated fluorescent lights above him flickering in a desperate bid to stay lit. Jon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off his already substantial headache. Under the waning light the text on the files was getting more and more difficult to read. He yanked the desk lamp forward, hoping to ease his strained eyes, but all that noble endeavor did was knock paper to the floor. Not that it made much of a difference. Jon didn’t think himself particularly inclined towards homicide, but the frankly inept filing system of his predecessor was making him reconsider. (Well. If she weren’t already dead. It might be a good idea not to voice that thought aloud, especially with the police investigation still active.)

Contrary to popular belief, he did not, in fact, live in the archives (cot be damned), and he wanted to go home eventually. There was still so much that had to be done, though. He swore the veritable mountain of unorganized documents was taunting him. No matter how many he digitized and stored away, the backlog refused to get any smaller.

So much to do. He was in over his head. The will to work was slipping away from him with every passing minute, but he couldn’t get over the notion that if he just stayed he would get something done. “Ugh,” he said, collapsing forward and slamming his forehead against the nearest pile of papers on his desk. Bad idea, he discovered after the fact, as it only made his existing headache worse.

He didn’t know how long he sat there before he became aware of noise coming from outside his office. The shuffling footsteps and poorly-hushed whispers moved towards his closed door, coming to an abrupt halt a few feet away. He had half a mind to be concerned about it, but that took more mental effort than he was able to give.

“He’s still here, right?” Ah, it was his assistants. Why hadn’t they gone home yet? More importantly, why were they interrupting his very important work?

“Come on, Martin, you go ask him. He obviously likes you best.”

“I don’t think that’s true?”

The whine of “Martiiiiiiin come ooooooooooon” was immediately followed by the sound of a scuffle. It was probably fine. Nothing to worry about.

“Ugh, fine, okay, Jesus. Just. Stop poking me.”

A moment passed without anything happening, and Sasha and Tim’s jeering whispers began again in earnest.

“Shut up,” Martin said, without much bite behind the words.

There was a timid knock, and the heavy door rattled in its frame in response. God. Not that Jon didn’t appreciate the idea of preserving architecture as much as the next man, but this building sorely needed renovations.

“What,” Jon said into the papers. His assistants were frustratingly audible through the closed door from the hallway, so his own sound would probably carry enough.

The door opened, catching slightly on the corner of the rug that was still torn up despite multiple requests to maintenance to have it fixed. “We were just wonder- are you okay?” The question was abrupt, punctuated by the door deciding to close on its own. His voice was coated in an irritating amount of worry that he hadn’t had the good manners to try to hide. It was unnecessary; Jon was fine, obviously, he didn’t need the concern.

He lifted his head, resting his chin on clasped hands in a way he hoped seemed natural and professional. “Yes, I’m fine,” he said, steadfastly ignoring Martin’s skeptical look. “Do you need something?”

Martin pursed his lips, looking like he wanted to argue. Jon raised an eyebrow at him, challenging. His assistant, after an uncomfortable amount of scrutinizing eye contact, shook his head, then clicked his tongue. He remained silent for a moment before panic flashed on his face, passing too slowly to evade notice. “Did I need something, what did I need, come on Martin,” he muttered, clearly having forgotten his directive. “Oh!” He tapped the side of his fist against his open palm. “Yes. Right. Sasha and Tim and I are going out for drinks, do you want to come with us?”

All the fuss over that? “No.”

Martin looked taken aback, like he truly hadn’t expected this very predictable outcome. “Oh, uh.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I quite need to get back to filing,” Jon said, fully aware and willing to admit, to himself, at least, that he wasn’t going to get any more filing done tonight.

His assistant stared at him with a mix of lingering disbelief and something else, something Jon didn’t know how to interpret. “If you’re sure?” He paused, waited. For what, a response? Jon wasn’t going to give him one. “Okay, well. Have a good night, I suppose. Go home and get some rest.”

The door clicked closed after him, and Jon returned to considering the stack of paper in front of him. It hadn’t been very comfortable, but it was tempting nonetheless.

“So? What happened?” Tim asked from outside, and Jon was unfortunately once again reminded of how poorly the Magnus Institute was soundproofed.

“He looked really tired and...” Martin replied, trailing off.

“Pissy?” Tim suggested. Jon waited for Martin to correct him, but there was only silence.

Right.

The awkwardness hung suspended for another dragging moment before Martin added, “More than usual, I mean.”

Tim swore, and his door burst open again. “Hi, boss!” His voice was chipper and laced with something dangerous. “Martin said that you’re having a bad time. Are you doing that thing where you get so invested in your work that you forget to eat?”

Shit, was he? “No.”

“Oh, yeah? When did you last eat? What was it?”

“Uh,” Jon responded eloquently.

Tim rolled his eyes and moved to stand by Jon’s side, paying no mind to the statements he was stepping on. “You feel bad because you have low blood sugar. Here, come on, up you go,” He took Jon’s arm, urging him to stand. “You’re coming out with us and you’re getting food. In the meantime, Sash?”

“On it!” she replied cheerfully from just outside the doorway, not even trying to pretend she hadn’t been eavesdropping.

Jon did his best to remain seated, he really did. Unfortunately for him, he was quite small and Tim, god knows why, exercised for fun. “I have to work,” he protested weakly as he was pulled to his feet.

“Work will be there in the morning.” Tim gently shoved him towards the door, maneuvering him easily despite Jon’s quite reasonable decision to dig his feet in. “Stop that.”

The buzzing lights above them shuttered off, finally giving up their flickering fight to stay on. Jon shook off Tim’s hand and reached towards the light switch. He flipped it a few times. Nothing. Honestly, damn this building.

“See, even the office agrees,” Sasha added helpfully, accompanied by the crumpling of old pharmacy receipts as she dug through her bag in search of one of the many granola bars she kept on her person. Without looking up, she stepped to the side and out of the way as Tim pulled him into the hallway. “Does this mean you’re coming with us, then?” She handed him one of the snacks she had unearthed.

“I suppose it does,” Jon said, reluctantly taking the bar and shoving it into his pocket to eat on the way. It was the especially crumbly kind, and he didn’t particularly like the flavor, but Tim and Sasha would be incessant if he refused. The two of them together were a force to be reckoned with, and he didn’t think he could withstand it.

After a bit of awkward shuffling as each person waited for somebody else to take the lead, the group made their way towards the exit. The hallways were not quite wide enough for them all to walk next to each other, and Jon found himself in the front, Tim’s and Sasha’s bright voices bouncing off the walls behind him.

It was only when he was in the break room, struggling to put on his jacket without bunching up the sleeves of his pullover in the process, that Jon realized a voice was missing. He turned, but Martin had indeed followed along and just hadn’t said anything instead of vanishing into the void. Unlikely as it was, if anybody could manage to get lost in a hallway in his own workplace it was Martin. He stood just inside the doorway, alternating between watching the others and tapping on his phone. It looked like he was trying to mask it, but he was obviously vaguely upset in that nervous, Martin sort of way. It wasn’t an unfamiliar expression on him, but it was disconcerting all the same. It wasn’t any of Jon’s business, probably, and yet the itch of curiosity, the need to know why, ate at him.

Before Jon could ask, Tim swung an elbow around Martin’s shoulder. “Hey, these guys are taking too long,” he said conspiratorially, pointing his thumb in Jon’s direction and looking at Sasha intently through the corner of his eye. She immediately began struggling with her scarf, unwinding it, rewinding it a different way, tucking it under her jacket, untucking. “Want to get a head start? They’ll have to run to catch up.”

Martin considered. “Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting. I don’t want to inconvenience them. Or you. Uh. Sorry.” He wrung his hands and didn’t seem to be particularly close to making a decision.

The other assistants frowned at that a bit. “You won’t inconvenience us,” Sasha said. “You’ll be two or three minutes ahead, max. Besides, you know how crowded it can get. Can’t hurt to send people ahead to get a table.”

“If you’re sure?”

“I am,” she said, shooing him away with a hand not currently occupied with wrangling the scarf. “Go on, we’ll be there in a bit.”

Martin looked at Jon and, when Jon said nothing, adopted an unreadable expression. He turned to Tim. “All right, let’s go, then?”

Rather than answer, Tim stepped into the hallway and gestured for Martin to follow. The two disappeared around the corner, but their chatter, or Tim’s, at least, was audible until the stairwell door closed behind them.

“You could stand to loosen up a little, you know,” Sasha chided over her shoulder as she neatly fixed her outerwear.

“Who, me?” Jon asked before his brain caught up to his mouth. Yes, of course it was at him. They were the only ones left in the archives. Who else could she have possibly been talking to? She looked distinctly unimpressed, arms crossed loosely, but she didn’t say anything. “Wait. You faked having trouble with your scarf, you didn’t actually need the extra time.” He reached into the sleeve of his jacket to straighten out the jumper, which had folded uncomfortably at his elbow.

She sighed heavily, dragging her fingers down the side of her face. “Yes, obviously.”

Jon could feel the blank confusion on his face and tried to school it into something resembling scholarly curiosity. “Why?”

“Martin needed some time to clear his head.”

He hadn’t been the only one who noticed his sour mood, then. “Why, did something happen?” It had been a pretty quick shift, and Jon hadn’t seen him react to anything particularly terrible between the office and the break room.

Sasha gave him a thin, pressed smile. “You don’t think it might have been hurtful for him to invite a coworker out and be rejected point blank, and then have that person immediately accept somebody else’s invitation to the same event? You know what kind of message that sends, don’t you?”

Her voice was accusatory, sharp. He had never heard her like this before; it was such a big difference between the cheeriness she normally exuded. Why? “...Excuse me?”

“You were awfully curt with Martin, rude even, and then not a minute later Tim dragged you out and you two joked around. How do you think Martin might feel about that?”

He frowned. “I don’t see what there would be to be upset over. I had a headache, and Tim bullied me into-” Jon sighed, injecting his words with as much disdain as he could muster- “taking care of myself. Martin didn’t."

“I know that, and you know that, but does he?”

“Of course he does,” Jon said. “It’s the obvious conclusion to come to.” Wasn’t it?

Sasha’s only response was a neutral hum, and she stepped towards the door. “Think about it,” she said as she walked out into the hallway, leaving Jon to turn off the lights in a rush and hurry after her.

The streets were busy; it was well past evening on a Thursday night, but neither that nor the cold would keep people inside, it seemed. Over the crowd, he couldn’t see either Tim or Martin, but that wasn’t particularly surprising. Sasha was much taller than he was, but she didn’t seem particularly interested in actively finding them.

“Eat,” she said.

“Oh, right, I, uh. I don’t actually like this flavor that much?” At Sasha’s disapproving look, Jon begrudgingly unwrapped his granola bar, slightly crushed from its journey into his pocket. Crumbs immediately worked their way between the knit of his gloves. He frowned at them, but there they remained.

They wound their way around rowdy groups clogging the sidewalk, and as the sugar gradually worked its way into his system and he became more alert, Jon noticed something. “Haven’t we passed three pubs already? Where are we going?”

She scoffed. “A Chelsea pub? Yeah, like I’m going to pay twice as much as I’d pay for the same drink twenty minutes away. There’s one near Victoria Station that Tim, Martin, and I frequent.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Don’t tell me you pay full price for drinks in Chelsea? Cushy archivist salary treating you that well?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s just, ah. It’s been a while since I’ve been out.” And it really had been, hadn’t it? He was struggling to remember the last time he had really taken the time to properly socialize outside of work. Hm.

“Gotcha.”

Sasha led them down streets Jon had never seen before, confident and brisk in a way that left Jon struggling to keep pace. After ten minutes or so, she sped up even more, waving enthusiastically.

Down the road, Tim and Martin leaned against the red brick wall as people trickled in and out of the doors. Above them was a large sign with hand-painted letters that Jon was sure were meant to evoke rustic charm but in effect just seemed sloppy.

Martin stood straighter than he had at work, less hunched in on himself. He spoke, and his hands, usually so stiff and unmoving, were fluid as he made wide gestures. Tim laughed even as he noticed Jon and Sasha, lifting his hand in greeting.

“Hope you haven’t been waiting long!” Sasha jogged up to them, smiling, and ushered them towards the door.

“It’s only been a few minutes, it was no problem,” Martin said. “I don’t mind waiting anyway, not really. Oh, it isn’t that crowded but it’s a little loud, so Tim and I stood outside so we wouldn’t have to yell. I hope that’s okay.”

Tim clapped him on the shoulder before he could get too worked up. “Of course it’s okay, I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise. Besides, if they had a problem they’d have to take it up with me.” He flexed theatrically like Sasha and Martin both weren’t much stronger than him. (Musclebound freaks, the lot of them.) Politely, neither commented on it.

Jon hurried the last few meters to join with the group. “How was walking with Sasha? Bit intense, isn’t she.” Tim smirked at him.

“Yes, quite,” Jon wheezed out, trying to get control of his breathing.

Tim placed his hand over his heart, adopting a deeply scandalized expression. “Oh, no, Sasha, you’ve killed him. You’ve killed our boss. What will we do now?”

She shrugged. “Not my fault his legs are short.” She opened the door and strode inside. “I’ll go grab seats, you guys get your drinks. Tim, you know what I want, yeah?”

“Course.”

The pub was noisy, and the floor was just a little sticky under Jon’s shoes. He was uncomfortably aware of the way they stuck every time he moved, not enough for concern, but certainly more than enough for irritation. The bar itself was even more crowded, but before too long the bartender gestured him over.

Shit. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. “Do you make mojitos here?” A solid enough choice for the first drink he called to mind.

“Yep,” she said. “Want one?” He nodded and she turned to make it. He couldn’t quite see over the crowd to watch what she was doing, but he was sure it was quite the performance.

Jon took his drink and paid, realizing that both Tim and Martin had already disappeared. He floundered for a moment before his eyes landed on a small booth in the corner. As he arrived, Tim stood up and gestured to the empty bench next to him.

“Sorry, I’m claustrophobic,” he said, not sounding particularly sorry. “Gotta be on the outside. You get it.”

Jon wanted to protest, but the look on Tim’s face gave him the feeling it wouldn’t be worth the trouble. He slid into the booth, the polished wood catching against his hands as he moved to make room.

At the center of the table was a basket full of slices of bread, which had been unsubtly moved towards Jon’s spot in the minute or so since he’d arrived. He took a piece, hoping that it would serve as an excuse not to participate in idle conversation.

“So, Jon, what did you get?” No such luck. Sasha smiled at him as she took a sip from her drink.

He rushed to swallow the mouthful of bread he was chewing on, barely managing not to choke. “A mojito?”

“Are you not sure?”

“No, I am, just-”

Tim grinned. “Oh, Martin got a mojito too, didn’t you, Martin?”

Jon looked at Martin’s glass. It was quite similar to his own, except- “There’s a cucumber in yours.”

“Yes, well, uh. Right. It _is_ a cucumber mojito, so. That’s why.” He trailed off into nervous laughter.

“Why would you pay more for a tasteless addition to a drink that’s perfectly fine on its own?” He swirled the tiny straw in his own objectively better drink. Cucumbers, honestly.

Martin stuttered, thrown. “I. I don’t know? I like it, I guess?”

He didn’t know why he thought he might have gotten a more concrete answer. “...Right.”

Tim cleared his throat. “Well, exciting as that all is, let’s move on, why don’t we.” He pulled his overfull drink closer, frowning when a little of the garishly red alcohol spilled over the rim.

“Tim, you didn’t get a beer?” Jon asked before he could stop himself.

“Fuck no, beer’s gross. Why would I?”

The napkin dispenser next to him was suddenly incredibly enthralling. Fascinating how many fingerprints could gather on the black plastic before it was cleaned. How many people had touched it today? Ten? Twenty? Jon decided he would not be one of them. “Well, I just assumed, I suppose, that you’d be the type.”

“You sure were wrong about that, weren’t you?” Tim waved his hand flippantly. “Anyway.”

Friendly chatter started up in earnest, mostly between Tim and Sasha but with Martin contributing at a much higher frequency than Jon expected. They all seemed comfortable around each other, and he unexpectedly felt a pang of something lonely in his chest. It had been so long since he’d been out like this, and here he was squandering it.

“Okay, boys,” Tim said, clapping his hands together and pulling Jon violently out of his head. “How do we feel about Mr. Microsoft Excel this week?”

Who?

“He’s such a smarmy piece of shit, I swear to god,” Sasha groaned.

“He keeps making those jokes, you know the ones where he acts like he knows something you don’t, and then laughs about it? And never explains it? He’s done that three times this week alone.” Martin shook his head. “They don’t even make any sense!”

Who?

“Yeah, I hate him. He fucking sucks, needs to lay off. What about you, Jon?”

“Uh.” He cleared his throat. “I can’t say I know who you’re talking about.”

Tim laughed, but stopped pretty quickly when Jon didn’t laugh back. “Can’t read between the lines, then? Elias, you know, your boss?”

Ah. “Well. He’s, uh, fine, I guess. A good boss?”

Sasha hummed skeptically. “Is he, though? We know you’re his favorite, but you don’t need to keep sucking up to him when he’s not here to see us.”

“What? I’m not his favorite.”

“Oh, come on, Jon, of course you are. You don’t think the minute he waltzed into research all-” Tim put on an exceedingly ridiculous affect, “‘-Oh, I’m Elias Bouchard, and I just lost another employee at my spooky ghost research facility under mysterious circumstances, guess I have to pick a replacement again! Third time this month!’ he didn’t immediately pick you out? He sensed comradery, that’s what it was. Grumpy, doesn’t know how to take a joke, stick up the-”

“Hey.”

Tim raised his hands, surrendering. “Okay, okay. Just saying.”

When Tim and Jon both stopped speaking, Martin’s quiet chuckle revealed itself.

“Do you have something to say to that, Martin?”

He squeaked. “Uh, no, not at all?” Jon stared at him and he reluctantly continued. “For the most part, you’re pretty different, but.” He stopped and closed his mouth, seemingly unwilling to finish his sentence.

Unfortunate, since Jon needed to know the end of it. “No, please, go on.”

“Well, Jon, to be fair, you both, uh.” Martin raised his hand to scratch awkwardly at the base of his skull, resolutely refusing to make eye contact. “You kind of...” The rest of his words trailed off into a rushed murmur, drowned under the roar of the pub. Next to him, Sasha choked only a little bit on her drink.

Jon frowned. “We kind of what, Martin.” Not a question, that, not really. He noticed his falling intonation only as he was already doing it, when it was certainly too late to take back without making himself look exceedingly stupid. Way to be social, Jon.

Sasha waved away Martin’s frantic attempts to help as she coughed into a napkin. When it was clear she wasn’t on her immediate way to an early grave, he looked up, clearly thought better of it, and stared hard into his own drink. “You kinda.” He paused, growing red. “Dress like a square?” His hands immediately flew up to cover his face.

“What.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, oh god. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

Tim guffawed, driving his elbow into Jon’s side with more zeal than was strictly necessary. “Oh, man, you totally do. Like. Argyle? What year is it?”

“I happen to like argyle, thank you very much,” Jon replied, affronted, moving out of elbow range. Or as well as he could, at least, before he hit the wall at the end of the booth. “It’s sensible.”

Tim elbowed him again. Damn. “Aw, did your nan buy this for you? Are you sentimental?”

She had, in fact, bought Jon the pullover he was currently wearing. He made the, ah, tactical decision not to say so aloud. “No,” he said, quite convincingly and not at all in a suspicious or defensive way.

“Oh, she absolutely did,” Sasha snorted, her drink safely on the table and not in her lungs. “That’s precious. Isn’t it, Martin?”

A small “maybe” was muffled behind Martin’s hands.

Tim nodded sagely. “Ah, yes, I see, it was because of the argyle and the grandma clothes. That’s why Elias picked you. Thanks for the elaboration, I was confused.”

Jon pursed his lips, feeling his own face heat up with some shameful mix of embarrassment and anger. “Regardless of my,” he paused, soaking his next words in disdain, “‘fashion decisions,’ I was promoted because I’m competent and a hard worker, unlike-” He cut himself off as he felt the mood around him sour.

“Jon, you need to take a step back, relax a little. You’ve already got the job-” Sasha’s smile slipped slightly for a moment before she pasted it back on, brighter than before. Next to him, Tim hissed sharply. Did she kick him? “- so you don’t have anything else to prove. Trust me, nobody cares about that air you put on.”

“Honestly, it makes you seem like kind of a prick,” Tim chimed in.

Sasha ignored his interruption. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen if you loosened up a little? Really, when’s the last time Elias fired or even demoted somebody?”

He breathed in deeply, out through his nose, again. “I need a smoke,” he said after a moment.

“Jon-”

“Excuse me, Tim.” When his way was clear, he weaved through the throng of other customers and out the front door.

Jon stood at the curb around the corner, an unlit cigarette between the fingers of his left hand and his lighter in the other. It was cold out. The dry London air sapped warmth from his hands and the tip of his nose, and he wound his scarf a little tighter. He lit the little flame on and off, on and off, losing himself a bit in that small point of heat and light.

“I thought you quit,” a voice to his right said.

Jon startled and turned towards the sound. Next to him, Martin winced and covered his mouth with a hand.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Jon waved his hand dismissively. “It’s fine.” He looked down at the cigarette. “I did quit, didn’t I,” he mused, and placed it back into the crumpled pack he kept in his pocket. “How did you know that? I don’t recall ever telling you that.”

“Tim mentioned it as you left.”

Of course he did. “And he sent you after me?”

“No, I’m here because _I_ wanted to be.”

Jon sighed, tamping down that flare of irritation he felt at needing to be handled. “I don’t need to be stopped, Martin. Or- or comforted.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

No, he didn’t, but why else would he possibly be out here? “I’m an adult who can make his own decisions.”

“And I’m not? I can’t make the decision to stand outside?”

He sputtered. “It’s not the same.”

Martin hummed. “So… you quit smoking, but you still keep a pack and a lighter on you?”

“Mm.” A non-answer, and quite an obvious one at that. He turned away to watch the busy street in front of them.

Martin had the good graces to leave it alone, and they stood in silence for a few minutes, interrupted only by the rush of passing cars.

“Did I do something to you?”

Jon glanced over at Martin, who was obstinately not looking at him. His nervous smile was gone, replaced with something cold and distant. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’re closer to Tim and Sasha, you worked with them a lot more than you did with me. And that’s fine. But…” Martin cut himself off, seeming to steel himself before closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. “But you aren’t just _not_ friendly, you’re awfully mean to me, Jon, and I don’t know why. So. Did I do something to you?”

He bristled at that. He wasn’t mean, he was just professional and expected a certain quality of work. Except. Was that it? Jon… didn’t know what to say to that. “Are you drunk?” was what came out instead.

“Not off one drink, no, but. Liquid courage, right?” He sighed. “It really bothers me. It hurts, actually.”

Oh. “I’m sorry,” Jon said at length. What else could he say?

It wasn’t enough. “Yeah. Well. I’ll see you back inside, I guess.”

“Martin, wait.”

His coworker stopped, but didn’t turn back towards him. “Yeah, Jon?”

His head hurt. “Ugh, nothing. Go back inside.”

Martin let out a breath, a weary, dragging thing that pulled against the plane of his shoulders. He didn’t say anything as he left, didn’t even look back, and with him went a shield of warmth that Jon hadn’t noticed until it was gone. The chill that overtook him was near-unbearable, but huddling in on himself did nothing but make him feel small.

Discomfort roiled under his skin as he slowly became aware of the intensity of his train of thought. Unbidden, his brain replayed every interaction it could remember, and from his new perspective it painted quite the unpleasant picture. Every snide word, every dismissal, every excuse he made to both himself and his coworkers about his actions. God. Even now, he felt the need to double down and justify himself, but the sharp stab of guilt in his stomach was new. He hated to admit it, but Martin wasn’t wrong in his assessment.

He pressed the heels of his palms under his eyes. “Fuck.” He needed to fix this, and he didn’t know how. How could he make up for everything he had said, everything he had done?

The wind picked up around him, stealing the last of the heat. He wasn’t going to solve anything by standing out here sulking, and as appealing as the thought of staying and sulking anyway was, the cold was starting to get to him.

The pub’s warm light and friendly chatter felt alien to him as he entered. It had been an irritant when he first arrived, but now the welcoming atmosphere was one that he didn’t belong in, like his presence tainted the air of it and turned it rotten. Pinpricks of discomfort worked their way across his skin, but he did his best to ignore them.

When he returned to the table, his coworkers were silent, and Tim stood without a word to let him back in. The basket of bread had been refilled, and there was a glass of water at his seat. The quiet stretched on, and for lack of anything better to do he picked up the glass. Condensation dripped down the side and rolled down his hand onto his sleeve before he could stop it.

“So, uh. Anybody have any plans for the weekend?” Martin asked, apropos of nothing. Sasha quirked an eyebrow at him, and the two had some indecipherable nonverbal conversation that Jon felt uncomfortable witnessing.

Sasha seemed mollified by whatever she had seen, however, and sat back, launching into a tale about her intent to clean her flat and take a trip to the laundromat that had far too many exaggerations for something so mundane.

The conversation meandered without any real direction, and Jon, feeling out of place, sat back and listened, only chiming in when absolutely necessary.

Five minutes into a story about Sasha’s time in artifact storage, which at this point had dissolved into a squabble with Tim over who had dealt with the strangest events after first being hired, Jon looked up to see Martin’s drink empty. This, at least, was something- nice?- he could do.

“Hey, do you want another drink?” He asked, pushing the words out quickly so he couldn’t chicken out. “I can, uh. I can buy you one, if you want. With cucumber, even-” He stopped before he further insulted Martin’s choice in alcohol.

“Me?” Martin asked, looking a little dumbfounded.

“Yes, you, obviously,” Jon snapped before wincing. “Sorry. Yes.”

“Oh, uh. No, no thank you.”

Well, that was a wash. “All right.” A frustratingly large part of him was content to sit back and give up after that. He tried to be kind, and it didn’t work. The twisting shame in his gut at Martin’s shock that he would even offer, though, reminded him that he needed to be doing this for Martin’s sake and not his own.

The pub gradually emptied out, and when there were more free tables than occupied ones Tim stood and stretched. “Hate to cut this short, but I think it’s time to go home,” he said. “We have work in the morning.” He made a face like he had eaten something with an extraordinarily bad taste.

“Short?” Sasha said, laughing. “It’s been hours.”

“It isn’t closing time yet, is it?”

The rest of them stood, and Sasha clicked her tongue. “You go to bed at midnight every night, you never stay at pubs until closing.”

“Sasha, no, my image. You’re ruining it.”

“You don’t need my help to do that.”

Tim protested as they migrated towards the door, elbowing her. She elbowed him back.

Under the dim light of the streetlamp, Jon stopped, suddenly overcome with the concern that if he didn’t say something now, he would forget tonight and keep on as he was before. It surprised him how much he didn’t want that.

Martin noticed. “Jon? Is everything all right?”

He had spent the whole night passive, just going with everybody else’s decisions. It was time to make his own. He wasn’t drunk off of one drink either, but. Liquid courage, right? “Can I talk to you, actually?”

Despite the apprehension clear on his face, Martin nodded. “Oh, uh. Yeah, of course.” He turned towards their companions. “Hey, guys, Jon and I need a minute. We’ll meet you at the station?”

Tim looked doubtful, the gaze he leveled at Jon just a degree less than outright suspicious. “Are you sure? We can wait.”

“No, go ahead.” There was no question in his voice, just assurance. Sasha and Tim hesitated another moment, but Martin didn’t waver.

As the two turned to leave, Jon felt his heartbeat begin to speed up, and he had to fight to keep his focus off of the racing thoughts of imminent failure.

“So. What’s- what’s going on?” Martin, now that he didn’t have their coworkers to be strong in front of, looked almost as nervous as Jon felt.

That was his fault, wasn’t it? His assistant was very clearly expecting some sort of admonishment, and it was because he had stood up for himself. Jesus, Jon. “I know I already said this, and that it doesn’t change anything. Still, I’m sorry. You don’t-” he paused, trying to gather his thoughts in a way that made them seem more than the platitudes they were coming out as. “You don’t deserve the way I’ve been treating you. I’m sorry, I just. I don’t feel qualified for this job, and I guess I have to prove that I am, all of the time. Or somebody will find out that I don’t belong here, don’t belong…” Anywhere, really, but he wasn’t going to say that aloud.

“That doesn’t mean you get to take it out on us, on me.”

“No, no it doesn’t.” He exhaled heavily and watched the condensation form in front of his face. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to forgive me, I just. I’m sorry.”

Martin was silent for a long time, contemplating. “Do better, and then we’ll see. Sound good?”

“Do better. I can do that. Okay.” And he could. “Could you do me a favor, though?”

“Yes, of-” Martin cut himself off and made a face. “It depends what it is, actually.”

“If I do mistreat you again, please let me know, and if you can’t tell me, tell Tim or Sasha at least. I might not- I probably won’t be better immediately. I am going to try, though, I promise.” He didn’t make promises lightly, and he hoped his resolve showed.

“I can do that, yeah.” Martin’s smile returned. It was small but it was definitely present, and Jon felt some of his tension melt away at it. “Should we head to the station, then? It’s cold out.”

It hadn’t been that long, but their coworkers were nowhere in sight as they walked to the Victoria tube station. The streets were still full of people, many of them moving towards the terminal entrance. Not quite wanting to brave the crowds, Jon and Martin stopped outside, unsheltered from the wind but safe from the mass of people.

The two of them stood in the cold for a few minutes before Tim and Sasha rounded the corner. “Hey, sorry to make you wait!” Sasha said.

Jon squinted at her. “You left before us, what took so long?”

Sasha opened her mouth to respond, but Tim interrupted her before she could. “Got lost. These London streets, man. You know how it is.”

Tim definitely had GPS on his phone, and it had been a short walk besides. “That’s not true,” Jon said, confused more than anything.

“Jon,” Martin warned, but Jon didn’t know what he could be warning against.

“No, he’s right. We got so lost,” Sasha said, shaking her head as she tugged her scarf up over her mouth, covering her flushed face. “Everything looks different in the dark.”

Sasha also had GPS on her phone, and spent enough time walking around the city after work to know her way around at night.

“Jon, don’t,” Martin said a little louder before Jon could actively start fishing for information.

His incessant need to understand was gnawing at him, but with great difficulty he let it go. “Okay, fine. Whatever.”

The four of them descended the stairs, and the warmth of the station was a relief after so long outside. They clustered against a wall, mostly out of the way of passersby.

Sasha smiled. “Well, it’s been a good time! Thanks for coming out, everybody.”

“It was- I had fun. Thanks for inviting me,” Jon said, feeling a hint of a smile force its way onto his face.

“Oh, he does have expressions! Shocking.”

“Fuck off, Tim.”

“You should join us for this again,” Martin said eagerly, before quickly curbing back his excitement. “I mean, if you want.”

“Of your own volition, even. Tim can only bully you so much,” Sasha added.

Jon surprised himself with his answer. “That sounds nice.” He fidgeted for a moment. “Well, my platform is this way, so…”

“That’s not the way back to the archives, Jon. You should know that.”

“I don’t- I don’t live there!”

“I’ve seen the cot. You aren’t fooling anybody.”

“Fuck off, Tim!” He laughed, and it was a genuine thing.

**Author's Note:**

> I am a lesbian and it is my divine right to bully jon archivist  
> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/pianogavinwrite) and [tumblr!](https://pianogavinwrites.tumblr.com/) Leave me a comment if you feel like it, I thrive off feedback lmao. Thanks so much for reading :D


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